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In the end — if noone’s willing —
On behalf of those that represent me
I will accept the en masse killing.
And add that we knew what things would be
When, encouraged, the hounds’ dogs bite to kill
A people, once made the meat, would die at will.

Wipe tears away, break the eerie silence
That descends like a bomb on the room we sit;
For, after all, it is no more than digitalized violence
Fabricated into a film, taken bit by bit.
Speak not to me, O Representative, when you represent me
Of fantastical Potter Tales, of things that couldn’t be.

Now the local station, too, has a story to tell:
Though it is not a 50 minute run things are doctored well.
Dilka, with your vigour, conviction, were you born on the side
Of the Northern peninsula it wouldn’t be Shobha that died.

This not true! This not true! the conviction of bold
Sons our mothers mother having a field day being told:
This should be a vested fabric, lest our Grand Belief ails
And the mass euphoric mission in suspension fails.

If for a moment you feel lost, confounded by
A documentary reel, by your impulses lie.



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